Triumphs and Tragedies
by x-Ror-x
Summary: Sequel to "Home is where the thrill lies". Bruce and the Commissioner have something going on now...but how does it affect the story? What triumphs and tragedies will the heroes face? Bruce/Commish,Joker/Batman one-sided SLASH
1. To Blame

Hello again, all. This here is the sequel to Home is where the thrill lies, so if you haven't read it, go find it on my profile ;D It won't make much sense without it.

Disclaimer: I do not own TDK, any of the songs/cultural references I may add in later, or anything really...just the story

This is gonna be a longer sort of story (at least, longer than my last one), so please review, and keep in touch!

Oh, and this first chapter is going to be terribly slow, and probably more than a little boring, very sorry, but it's necessary. The next chapter will be better, I promise. It picks up after Harvey gets hospitalized, around the time where the Joker would have escaped the prison in the real movie timeline. Gordon's conversation with Dent (as alluding to in the beginning of the chapter) is the same as the movie.

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_**Chapter I**_**: **_To Blame_

The Mayor's office, in Gordon's opinion, was in just about the stupidest location ever. Being a corner office, it had windows covering the entirety of two whole walls, leaving the entire space, and the people inside, ridiculously susceptible to sniper fire. Not that the Mayor ever listened when Gordon put forwards well-intentioned advice that could one day save his life.

"I understand sir," Gordon said, nodding quickly. The conversation they'd just shared had been short and...well, certainly not sweet. To put it simply, the Mayor was pretty pissed, and with Harvey Dent put out of commission, it was understandable. The Mayor looked over at him with those unnervingly makeup covered eyes, and Gordon tried his best not to snicker. To be honest, Gordon wondered if the man had any self-respect.

"Good," was the Mayor's only reply, before he waved his hand, a clear dismissal. Gordon nodded once more before turning on his heel and booking it out of the Mayor's office. Although the Mayor was tolerable, Gordon personally didn't like him much. However, he was most thankful for the job the man had given him, so he sucked it up.

Sighing as soon as he got out the door, Gordon ran a worried hand through his hair; it was a habit he'd picked up, along with smoking. Stress seemed to work up into his veins when he wasn't watching, and it had odd ways of manifesting itself, especially physically.

"What'd the Mayor want, Commissioner?" Gordon started a little, before he recognized one of his cops, O'Sullivan. A sturdy man of Irish origins, his voice was still very much slurred with a thick lilting accent. Gordon shrugged in response to the man, before starting to walk again.

"He wants me to pay a visit to Mr. Dent," he called behind his back.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Alfred..."

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

Bruce Wayne was slouched down in a chair, his hair tousled over his forehead untidily. When he looked up at his manservant, Alfred almost took a step back. That look...that look wasn't Wayne. It wasn't the sort of look the younger Bruce would have ever had on his face; the eyes looked hollow, pained. It hurt the Englishman to even look at the man who'd been put in his care so long ago.

"Did I bring this on her?" The voice was monotone, tinged with undertones of hopelessness and self guilt that stung Alfred to the bone.

"Of course not, sir. There was nothing you could have done while locked up with the madman himself," he replied, trying to sound reassuring, all the while knowing he was failing terribly.

Bruce's eyes dropped back to stare at his knees, his shoulders slumped. "I- I..should have been there. I should have KNOWN."

"As I'm sure you've been told before, none of this is your fault..." Alfred couldn't help but remember when Bruce's parents had died...he'd said the exact same thing. He'd said it with the same straight face he said it with now; he'd believed himself then, and he believed himself now. But there was a difference between reassuring a child, and reassuring a grown man. The words seemed to ring false in a way they shouldn't have.

Bruce snorted at this reply, looking up at his butler with an incredulous smile. "Alfred, NONE of this would have happened, were it not for the Batman. The Joker wouldn't have called on me as his little..._play toy_," he spat the words out, remembering in a distasteful fashion what had occurred at the abandoned warehouse. The smile was preceded by a frightening little giggle, and Alfred was almost sure Bruce hadn't gotten enough sleep.

This all caused dear Alfred Pennyworth to pause, before slowly shaking his head. "You don't seem to get, Master Wayne, just how different the Batman is from _you_."

Looking up, the younger man frowned, his dark eyebrows coming together in confusion. "What-"

Alfred cut him off by approaching the chair stiffly, his face serious. "You are NOT the Batman...you're the man behind the mask, Master Wayne. With all due respect, the Batman is something entirely different, he's the legacy you've created running about in costume, he's the representation of all that's _good_ in Gotham."

He stopped to let the words sink in, before adding, "It may be because of Batman that the Joker's turned Gotham into his amusement park, but things like that are bound to happen. It's not your fault, Master Wayne." He prodded the young Wayne's chest to accentuate the point. "So don't you _ever_ go blaming yourself for what happens during your fight for justice. You already tried that, and it landed you and the Commissioner in a cell with the Devil himself."

Straightening up, Alfred huffed slightly under his breath. Bruce stared up at the older man, not really sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all.

"Here's your breakfast," Alfred finally said, sliding the platter he'd originally brought in over to Bruce's side. He turned to go, but before he did, he turned and said, "Learn from your mistakes, Master Bruce."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Warm water gushed all around Bruce, dripping off his nose, his hair, his lips; it ran down his bare body in small rivulets. The cool outside air melded with the hot liquid pouring from the shower faucet, creating steam that filled the entire room with a sort of fog.

Having already washed, Bruce leaned his forehead up against the glass of the shower stall, his eyes closed.

"_Killing is making a _choice_."_

Shuddering despite himself, Bruce pushed away from the wall quickly, his eyes coming completely open. Those same words had been haunting his sleep for the past couple nights, and no matter what he did, what he said, they never seemed to go away.

Turning off the tap, the millionaire shoved his way out of his steamy sanctuary and out onto the cold marble floor beyond. He'd just done so when a knock at the door reached his ears.

He tied a towel around his waist and said, "Come in."

The door swung open, and Alfred poked his head in. "The door, Master Bruce. Commissioner Gordon's here to see you."

Bruce's heart skipped a beat, and he could feel his eyes widening despite himself. Alfred must have picked up on the aura of uneasiness, for he said calmly, "He doesn't seem overly upset...I don't think it's anything urgent, if you would like me to send him away..."

It took a moment for Wayne's mind to process the information, but when it clicked, he shook his head. "No, it's fine. Tell him I'll be out in a moment, won't you?"

"Of course, Master Wayne," his manservant replied, bowing slightly before he left, closing the door behind him. Bruce shivered a little at all the cold air the little visit had let in, and hurriedly dried his body off best he could.

Gordon. Gordon had made well on his word, and had come to visit...his home. Bruce couldn't help but smile slightly when he thought of their last encounter...it seemed that thinking of Gordon eliminated some of the utter remorse he felt for Rachel's death, for his failed attempt at saving Dent...every little bit helped, and Gordon seemed to be more than a "little" bit.

Throwing on one of his old velvet bathrobes, Bruce padded barefoot out of the bathroom. Although he'd dried off successfully, his hair was still fairly wet, dying it a deep jet black that stuck out here and there in odd damp spikes. The bathrobe itself made him an epitome of wealth and stature, and combined, he created a rather dashing effect without even meaning to.

Unaware of this, or indeed, of how sexy it made him look, he made his way to the front room, where he caught his first glimpse of Gordon after their first kiss encounter.

The other man looked same as ever; chocolaty hair streaked with grey, his old familiar trench coat hanging over the back of his chair, sipping at a cup of coffee Alfred had indubitably brought him.

It seemed unplanned actions were now a common event when concerned with Gordon, for Bruce felt his face crinkle into a smile without his command. However, he didn't loiter about, and approached quickly.

"Good evening, Commissioner. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he greeted politely, when he'd entered the room. Gordon's head snapped up; always the alert one, he was. He relaxed a little when he saw it was the rich playboy himself, smiling best he could in return. However, Bruce could tell something was eating at him.

"I hardly think we need such civilities, don't you think, Mr. Wayne?" he replied, his voice sounded more than a little tired.

"Then please, call me Bruce."

Gordon raised his eyebrow, but shrugged and chuckled a little. Things felt slightly awkward, especially after what had happened between them, but it was undeniable; the chemistry they'd both felt during their last meeting was still very much there. Hell, Bruce could all but see it in the other man's eyes; he'd momentarily forgotten he was wearing nothing but a bathrobe, but he could tell right away that Gordon had been finely attuned to the fact for some time now.

"Sorry I'm so...ill dressed. I wasn't expecting company," Wayne apologized after a couple moments of silence. God, he hated silence. When he was with Gordon, at least.

"Oh, it's my fault, I should have phoned," was Gordon's quick reply. They stood there for a moment, before both laughing a little. Bruce didn't fail to notice the red blush of color that had momentarily swept over Gordon's face.

Hesitantly seating himself in a chair across from Gordon, Bruce slowly said, "So what's on your mind, Gordon?"

It was the Commissioner's turn to sigh, and he shrugged- another nervous tick of his. "I visited Harvey Dent today." Bruce's eyes clouded over at this, his mouth becoming a grim line. Gordon caught this easily, but it wasn't something that was about to stop him.

"He's not accepting skin grafts, and he's...well, he's very angry."

"I would be too, if my future bride and half my face was blown to bits," Bruce muttered, sounding more than a little bitter. Gordon looked up at him then, with those clear, concise eyes of his.

"I'm worried about him, Bruce. If he doesn't get back on his feet..." he left the sentence unfinished, but they both knew very well what Gordon was getting at.

"There's not much we can do now..." was Bruce's only offered opinion, before he too shrugged, his face still bleak. Gordon's own eyes turned pained, but only for half a second.

"I- I'm worried about you too, Bruce."

Frowning, Bruce looked up at the older man, shaking his head. "What for?"

"You know full well. I've heard from Alfred that you're walking around like a living zombie, that you won't eat, that you blame yourself..."

"Since when have you and _Alfred_ been talking?" Bruce asked incredulously. Gordon looked slightly uncomfortable as he shrugged, yet again.

"He's worried about you too," Gordon said, persisting. Bruce sighed in an aggravated tone, the set of his shoulders becoming defensive. Gordon noted this, so he eased up.

"Well...I'm on your side, if it makes you feel better."

Not meeting the other man's eyes, Bruce looked away before turning his gaze back on Gordon. He didn't reply, only stiffly nodded.

More silence, but this time it was Gordon who broke it. "Well...I should really be getting back to Barbara, and the kids..." he said feebly, not really wanting to leave at all. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot he could do with Bruce being so withdrawn.

When he was met with no response, Gordon got up, uneasily picking up his coat and sliding into it. About to head for the door, he was interrupted. "Gordon, wait."

Turning back, Gordon was caught by surprise; Bruce was standing right there. Lord, the man was fast! "Y-yes?" he managed, feeling suddenly flustered by the close contact.

Bruce gripped Gordon's coat collars at this point, looking into his partner's eyes, and then he pulled the man in by them, connecting their lips slowly. His mouth moved almost lazily on Gordon's, sensually, and when the dark man pulled away, Gordon's eyes were glassy.

"Thanks for coming."

"My pleasure."

"Good night, Gordon."

"...Good night..._Bruce_."

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So, that's it for the first chapter- please review! Oh, and by the way, Gordon's conversation with Dent (as alluded to in the beginning of the chapter) is the same as the movie.

There will be more to come, never you fear!


	2. Colliding

The news broadcast in this chapter is taken exactly from the movie; but never fear, our story will vary from the actual movie itself. For now, certain parts of the movie are somewhat crucial to replicate to a certain degree. However, at Gordon's car scene, one must keep in mind that Bruce was NOT there to intercept the car collision...he was elsewhere.

Oh, and as for updating, I will not update unless I receive reviews!!

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_**Chapter II: **__Colliding_

Bruce had been expecting, after the unexpected (and, in his own opinion, short) visit from Gordon that he wouldn't see the man again for a little while. He was right, in a way, but was quite taken aback when he received a phone call from the Commissioner.

"Master Bruce, phone for you," came the voice of the familiar man who'd looked after Bruce for almost all of his young life.

Frowning slightly as he finished doing the buttons on one of his cufflinks, Bruce took the phone. It was going to be his first day back at "work" after the incident; Alfred had seemed incredibly enthusiastic about the decision, but Bruce himself was more or less uncaring.

"Hello?" he said, focussing his attentions on the electronic device now in his hand.

"Have you seen the television?" The voice was low, urgent, and unmistakably belonged to Gordon. Bruce's frown went deeper before he replied; he would've been pleased at receiving such a phone call, were it not for the tone of voice with which it was delivered.

"No, what channel?"

"Gotham News."

Alfred had already picked up on the mood that had come down on the room, and when Bruce gestured towards the TV, it was as if they were sharing the same brain. In a fluid movement most people wouldn't expect of the older man, he flicked the television on. It was, for the most part, kept on the Gotham City News anyways, so no further pressing of buttons was needed.

The first thing that caught Bruce's eye was the headline on the bottom of the screen; "The True Identity of Batman Revealed". The next thing he caught was the man sitting (rather nervously) in the chair beside the anchor; it was one of his employees...the little rat faced man who did number crunching for Fox. Reese was it?

A caller was asking the man if he thought he knew better than Dent and the Commissioner; Bruce tuned out and spoke into the phone once more. "Where are you, Gordon?"

"Taking the men down to round up the mob by the docks, but its been put on delay thanks to the broadcast."

"It's not a problem...even if he says it's me, I've already been taken in as the Batman; it's been proven I'm NOT the Batman..."

There was a pause of Gordon's side, before he replied, "Still. Raising suspicion on you again isn't good...and what if he comes up with a random civilian, or worse yet, someone like Dent..."

Bruce twitched slightly; he hadn't considered that possibility. However, he was spared having to reply when a new caller came onto the line.

"Who is this?" The anchorman was asking, and Bruce knew, he just knew. Gordon let out a quiet hiss under his breath, and Bruce knew he knew too.

"I haaaad a vision," the voice growled, and Bruce's skin crawled. "Of a world without Batman. The mob ground out a little profit and the _police_ shut them down one block at a time...and it was sooo...._boring_. I've had a change of heart. I don't want Mr. Reese spoiling everything, but why should I have all the fun? Let's give someone else a chance! If Coleman Reese isn't dead in _sixty_ minutes then I blow up a hospital."

"Fuck," Gordon cursed at the other end, before saying, "I should go."

"Wait, Gordon, let me help."

"The Batman can't come out in broad daylight, you should know that. Stay home."

After this, Bruce heard a click, and he was left gripping the phone between his fingers, his gaze steely. Alfred, who'd been standing by his side, asked, "Will you be going out then, sir?"

"Yes," Bruce growled. "I want you to look up all of Gordon's men, checking hospital admissions."

"Will you be taking the Batmobile, sir?"

"During the middle of the day? Not very subtle, Alfred."

"The Lamborghini then?....much more subtle..."

The elevator slide downwards, and Bruce was struck with a thought. Pressing the intercom button, he said, "Alfred?"

"Yes sir?" came the response through the speakers.

"I need you to hack into the police records for today..."

"Sir?"

"Check where they were headed, precisely, on the docks."

"Yes, Master Wayne." The speaker cut out at that point, and Bruce was sure Alfred was already typing away. Buttoning his suit once, Bruce stepped out of the elevator confidently when the doors slid open, hurrying over to the slick sports car.

Sliding in, all but ignoring the luxurious leather interior, he revved the engine in preparation, and off he zipped, the tires squealing behind him. He didn't have much time, not much time at all.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Gordon was having his own share of leaping from vehicle to vehicle as they hustled their asses over to the news station to pick up Reese; after being shot at, they ducked into a police vehicle, one of Gordon's cops joining them.

Their tires let loose a snarl of their own before bursting away from the building and the angry mobs of people. Reese's eyes were darting every which way, and he was sweating profusely, and Gordon was happy to note that he didn't feel sympathetic towards the mousy man at all.

"What do we do now? Where are we _going?"_ Gordon glanced over at Reese as the man stammered out the words, his expression carefully neutral as he turned and looked out the window.

Adjusting his glasses, the Commissioner frowned when he received a text message. _Watch out._ He read the rest of the message, including the names, and looked up in time to see the officer with him sweating just as hard as the man they were protecting, holding onto his gun as though it were a lifeline.

"It's Berg, isn't it?" he said, and the other man's head pulled up.

"Commissioner."

The reassuring smile that touched his lips was natural; after all, it was similar to the one he gave his children when they were having a bad dream, when they were full of indecision and confusion, even fear. "You okay, son?"

The officer chuckled slightly, no more than a release of air through his nostrils, really, before nodding shakily. Gordon paused then, opening his mouth slowly in preparation for the tricky, dangerous task he was about to partake in.

"I'm going to need your weapon."

"What?"

Not failing to see the gun lower, Gordon could feel Reese tense beside him.

"Why, because my wife's in the hospital?"

"Yeah, that'd be why," Gordon managed.

The next few seconds went by very slowly; they'd been stopped at a red light, and just as they were moving forwards, Gordon saw Berg's finger spasm slightly on the trigger, heard him say, "Mr. Rees-!" and he was already diving to the side, shoving Reese up against the window and throwing his arms up to protect himself.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, it was then that they were hit with incredible momentum by something on Reese's side; another vehicle, Gordon was sure. The metal door crumpled like paper, and Gordon could hear the vehicle they were in screech along the pavement til it hit a lamp post, around which it crumpled once more.

Gordon's head rammed up against something painfully; after all the damage he'd received to the head prior (and thanks to the Joker) he let out a howl of pain. His hands flew up to his temples, and he saw flecks of red all over his vision.

Looking down, he realized in his daze that the flecks of blood weren't of his own making; they were blood. Blinking, he had another realization; it was his own blood.

Berg's gun HAD gone off, and Gordon knew now that the bullet had hit him in the left shoulder; the impact had sent his blood flying off every which way, and it was now spattered here and there. But his blood wasn't the only blood, he soon discovered.

Looking up and blinking again, for his vision was streaked with black and white that he knew were caused by head injury, he saw the smashed remains of Berg's face. The man had been positioned just perfectly that when they'd hit the pole, his face had whipped into the window, shattering it.

Glass shards hung from the man's cheeks, his nose was bent at an odd position, his eyes half closed and his head bobbed about, only his limp neck holding it up. Blood literally gushed from him, and Gordon realized with vague horror that a very large shard of glass had sliced through the man's neck, clipping the artery.

It was then that he became conscious of the man practically underneath him. Reese had been slid underneath Gordon's legs at the impact, and was quivering. He was clutching his own head, but seemed more terrified than anything.

"C-C-Comm-missioner, are you- al-alright?" he stuttered uncontrollably over the words, his face white. Gordon opened his mouth to reply, and found himself quite unable to form a word, never mind a sentence.

"C-Commissioner?!" That was all Gordon really heard, as blood spattered about the back of the vehicle, as it made its way onto Reese's pale face, the staining contrast drawing his eye. Deep crimson all over pure white... how poetically pretty...

He heard voices in the distance, saw blurry people prying open the twisted metal, heard people shouting, screaming when they finally got to the three of them. His own head lolled, and the last thing he recalled was someone scooping him up into a stretcher. Blood...blood all around him...

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Sorry if that was a little dull (and short); it was unfortunately crucial to the plot. There will be more to come, however, so keep the reviews coming!


	3. Glad You Could Make It

Sorry this chapter took such an _absurdly_ long time to post! November was Nanowrimo month, and December, being the holidays, was simply and ridiculously busy. But I'm back for good now, til something new comes up! Here's the next chappie, tell me what you think!

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_**Chapter III:**__ Glad you could make it_

Adjusting his mirror, Bruce Wayne glared through the dark sunglasses he was wearing. Completely oblivious to the mayhem that was occurring to his Commissioner across the city, he was sitting in his Lamborghini at the docks Alfred had directed him to.

Waiting.

He'd driven down to the docks as quickly as he could; and when one has a Lamborghini and knowledge of all the short cuts in Gotham, quick is pretty damn quick.

His eyes narrowed as he observed the factory he was sitting outside of; it was pretty rundown, but he was certain it was where the Joker was...or was supposed to be. In fact, he wasn't sure if he was simply wasting his time until a few seconds later, when a plume of smoke escaped a crack in one of the windows and drifted up into the sky.

He tensed in his seat at this; smoke meant fire, and in a place where the Joker was _supposed _to be, fire confirmed his guesses. Bruce was silently triumphant, but not for long; after all, he had work to do.

He stayed perfectly still for a number of minutes; it'd be better to wait, see what happened...fortunately, his patience paid off.

"Get to the car, get to the car!!!" The hollers came crystal clear; after all, Bruce was sitting in the shadows right outside the factory doors; camouflage shields for simple vehicles such as his Lamborghini came in handy every once and awhile....

A good number of the Joker's lackeys came rushing out of the factory just then, glancing to and fro to make sure no-one was around. Seeming satisfied, they sprinted over to a number of nondescript vans, sliding doors open and hopping in.

Then the doors banged open once more, and the Joker himself emerged, flanked by two more thugs with guns the size of their torsos.

"Move out move out!!" he barked, his face twisted into a snarl. "We've got things to do!!" He walked at a brisk, but odd pace over to one of the vans, got in, and slammed the door shut.

The vehicles tore away from the place; Bruce spared the building one last glance. A fire was in there, and who knew who was in there....should he save the lives of people, or should he take down the big man himself?

Opting for a compromise, he started up his engine, touched the intercom, and said, "Alfred, there's a fire at the factory building you gave me the address to."

"I'll phone 911 right away, sir," was the crisp response, and then nothing. Bruce knew he could always rely on his manservant.

Taking off after the small procession of vans, he kept an eye out for the rusty black one near the middle; the Joker was in that one, he'd memorized the rust patterns. Funny, how he could remember things so easily when he forced himself to.

Once they got further into town, the convoy separated; two vans went right, one van went left, and two more kept straight. Bruce's eyes flickered slightly, but he knew the Joker was going right. Swerving into the turning lane, he kept his eyes glued to the two remaining vans like his life depended on it.

He realized they were headed towards Gotham General; so that was the hospital the maniac had decided to target? Only made sense, after all, Harvey Dent was there. Bruce had a feeling the Joker had it out for Dent...a plan perhaps?

His brow furrowed, marring his face. He tailed the vans, and soon, the van following the Joker's vehicle took a left turn, heading back for the main avenue they'd started off from. Now Bruce was following only the Joker's vehicle; it'd certainly make things easier in terms of watching out for thugs, but Bruce had a bad feeling.

It took a moment, in fact, for Bruce to register that they were mere metres away from Gotham General, so lost in thought was he. He did his best to stop, however, when the van in front of him pulled over to a discreet street corner. He kept driving, before pulling into his own parking space a good block away.

Fortunately, he was a fast runner, and by the time the Joker (dressed in a black hat and a trench coat) and his thugs got out of their vehicle, he was already parked and out, sunglasses and coat of his own concealing him well enough. They showed no signs of acknowledging him, which was good, and he silently jogged through the crowd after them.

They made their way unfailing to the hospital; Bruce could see that police cars already had the place surrounded. What he didn't expect was for the Joker to swing round to the back entrance. Sure, the maniac couldn't exactly take the front way, but Bruce had half expected the Clown to simply burst in with a grand entrance.

Some of the people looked at him oddly, like they recognized him, but he tried to ignore the ones who gave him such a look. After all, they'd probably second guess themselves later anyways.

Shadowing the Joker was proving to be a lot simpler than Bruce had thought (and still thought) it should have been. Not once did the cronies look back, not once did any of them show any consideration for the surrounding crowd.

Bruce was momentarily shocked when he saw they were heading for the front doors; the Joker was mad if he thought he could simply walk up to a hospital in such a fashion, especially after the threat he'd made on city wide news.

When they reached the doors, the Joker took a moment to glance here and there, and Bruce caught sight of his face. He now saw why no-one else could see the man's obvious makeup; not only was he wearing a ridiculously large black fedora, but he also had on a surgical mask and sunglasses.

Hitching up the collar on his coat, Bruce paused a moment before following the man into the building; at this point, the Joker had already entered and made it half way across the lobby. Bruce snorted to himself as he entered the hospital; the police weren't even there yet, and the hospital staff wasn't even bothering to check who came in and who went out. It was no wonder the Joker was able to easily blow up buildings in mid-day; the people of Gotham were complete idiots.

Shaking his head silently, he once again focussed his efforts on the disappearing back of a madman, that was now heading for the stairwell. Leave it to the Joker not to trust elevators. All the better; Bruce would be able to track what floor he arrived on better this way.

Forcing himself to walk over to the stair well as calmly as possible, Bruce waited half a second before cautiously opening the door, careful not to make a sound. Glancing back and forth to make sure there was nobody lurking near the stairs, he padded quietly over to the stairs and looked up. The hospital wasn't overly tall, and only had a few levels, but there were more than enough stairs for him to be able to look upwards quite a bit.

He heard clattering on the stairs some ways up; Bruce bet he was going for the top floor. The top floor; Bruce froze at this knowledge as he had a sudden epiphany. The Joker was going to visit Harvey Dent before he sent the whole place to hell. Cursing in his head, Bruce waited for the sound of the door closing on the top floor before he started ascending. There wasn't much time, but he didn't want to get shot out of haste.

Shooting up the stairs like he was being chased by the devil himself (when, in truth, he was simply pursuing him), Bruce forced his leg muscles to go far faster than they ever should have. He had reached the top of the stairs in haste when he caught sight of the Joker's cronies, who he'd momentarily forgotten about.

_Shit_, he thought to himself. The stairwell was small, and they already had their guns cocked at his chest. Without thinking, Bruce's feet were moving once more, and like a horse out of the box, he sprung forwards, his hands leaping out to grasp the two men and their weapons.

_Twist_, he broke a man's wrist, _flick_, he disposed of one gun. The clatter of the weapon sliding across the floor to fall down the stairs was soon drowned out by the man's hoarse scream, which was quickly silenced by a chop to his neck.

One man down.

The other didn't have time to react before his gun was rammed into his chest, breaking two of his ribs, by the sound of it. His mouth opened, his face twisted in agony, but he didn't even have time to make a single sound before Bruce took the gun and brought the butt flying into its master's head, rending him unconscious as well.

Two men, down and dealt with.

Recalling Gordon's advice about Bruce Wayne lying low to avoid any farther suspicion, Bruce shrugged out of his jacket and began struggling out of his shirt. He didn't usually keep his bat-suit handy, but ever since Rachel's death, he'd worn it 24/7. Turned out he was lucky he had.

His clothes were soon off, revealing only his suit, the fire-proof spandex and body armour that rippled with the muscles it hid and protected. Bruce's, or rather, Batman's cape fluttered minutely as he balled the clothes up and shoved them into the nearest garbage can, careful to make sure he didn't throw out anything important that might have been in his pockets. There was nothing, which he was thankful of, and he didn't waste a moment longer when he was finished.

It was risky to go out as Batman in the middle of the day; Batman only came out at night. But drastic times called for drastic measures, and being Batman would be a lot more safe than being Bruce, not only because of the identity problem; Bruce wasn't sure he could face the madman as Bruce Wayne. He _needed_ Batman.

Pushing the door open silently, Bruce, now Batman, glanced to and fro, relieved to see that nobody was on the top floor anymore. Slipping his gloves on, he tread down the hallway warily, keeping his eyes on all the doors he could. He was fairly sure that the Joker wouldn't kill him, what with his sick love confessions, but that certainly wouldn't stop the maniac from cracking his brains out with a trolley or something.

He felt like he was moving too slowly, but he knew it was necessary; his eyes darted nonstop, to one side of the hallway, to the other, and his nerves were on edge like they'd never been before. He didn't usually get this worked up, but after his last encounter with the Joker, he couldn't help but be overly wary.

Luckily for Batman, he soon arrived at a door that was closed; all the other doors were flung open, evidence of the quick evacuation. Batman's eyes narrowed as he approached the conspicuous door, and as he came closer and closer, he mentally affirmed that this was indeed Harvey Dent's room; he'd been there before, to return Harvey's coin.

He was a few steps away when he heard voices inside that again affirmed that the room was occupied. Batman slunk up and leaned forward, his head only a few inches away from the door. He was careful to keep his face hidden, lest one of the two men could see him through the small window in the door.

Batman could vaguely hear the Joker ranting on about how if he blew up a truckload of soldiers, nobody would panic. He distinctly caught the words, "It's all according to _plans_." Batman's brow creased at this; it was evident what the Joker was trying to do. He was trying to convince Harvey that he was right. But why would he do that? Bruce had thought the Joker would simply kill Harvey, perhaps jerk him around a bit before he did it. But this?

He snapped back to attention when he heard the clicking of a gun; the Joker had just mentioned something about introducing anarchy. Tensing, Batman decided it had gone far enough. His hand leapt quietly down to the door handle; it only took a touch to discover it was locked. He hadn't expected it to be open, but things would have certainly been easier.

Half afraid that the men, or rather, the Joker, had heard him attempting to turn the handle, Batman peeked in. What he saw unsettled even himself. The Joker was leaning over Harvey, clasping both their hands around a gun. His hands slowly spiralled upwards to allow the gun to rest at his temple; Batman's eyes widened. Was the Joker trying to commit suicide? Surely not, but why on earth would he take the chance?

As a man, Bruce knew Harvey would never forgive himself if he killed the Joker. Harvey was already damaged, but not beyond repair. Bruce believed that. But if he shot the Joker now, he'd be gone. Harvey Dent wouldn't exist. And judging by that hateful shine in Dent's eyes that Batman could see, even from the doorway, Batman had a good feeling that Dent wouldn't let the gun simply lie. Even if he didn't kill the Joker, that hate would find its way to other people. Batman couldn't take that chance. Neither could Bruce.

Gritting his teeth to prepare, Batman took a step back, and with one deft kick to the door, he broke the entire handle off. Another well placed kick all but broke it off its hinges, and like a decrepit old shutter, the door swung open with a sickly groan.

The boom of his boots had brought Harvey's eyes zooming over to glare with crazed eyes at the intruder. The Joker didn't turn his head; he simply allowed his eyes to roll over to gaze at the newcomer. They shone with a certain glow when he saw who it was.

"So glad you could make it, Bats," he purred, smiling. It was a demented smile to begin with; when it was combined with the gun he had plastered up against his skull and the ridiculous nurse outfit he was wearing, the effect was simply horrifying.

"Put the gun _down_, Harvey," Batman growled, his fists tight, every muscle in his body ready to spring forward. "You don't want to do something you'll regret."

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Man oh man. I just finished watching Superbad before I finished this chapter. It made me want to write a fan fiction on McLovin and his two cops SO bad. They are so slashy it isn't even funny. For those of you who haven't watched Superbad, or don't agree with me, never mind my ranting. For those of you who DO know what I'm talkin' bout, tell me what you think xD


	4. With Love

Another chapter for you wonderful people- please give me feedback, y'all, and remember- there'll be more Bruce/Jim fluffiness (maybe more, depending on what y'all think xD) in later chappies. For now, here's the next one!

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_**Chapter IV: **__With Love_

The room stood still for all of five seconds before the Joker laughed. It started out small, and grew, until his shoulders were shaking, his hands accidentally sliding the gun around on the side of his head. Batman growled deep in his throat at this, but he knew without the shadows of nightfall, he'd lost most of his intimidation.

Harvey, in the meantime, had both his eyes glued on Batman; one eye, full of anguish, the other wide and staring out of a gaping mess of a face. "Batman," he finally said his voice ragged and raw with emotion.

"Harvey," Batman said in return, taking a step forwards; turned out he should've stayed put. He could see Harvey's arm spasm, but instead of shooting the man who had it driven up against his head, it leapt out to aim for Batman.

His eyes widening, Batman said, "Harvey? What're you doing?" Even the great man of shadows couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, laced with the poison the Joker seemed to spread like a dandelion that had just been kicked.

Lifting up a coin- the coin Batman had returned to Harvey- he said, with a voice resolute, "Heads, you live, tails, you _die_."

"Don't do this, Harvey-"

"Shut up!" Harvey boomed. The Joker, the gun now away from his head, began to giggle once more, staying close to Dent for reasons probably only he could give.

"Better let him do what he wants, Bats, he's crazier than _I_ am!" This little comment didn't help the atmosphere, and both Harvey and Batman's fists clenched.

"Can't you see what he's doing to you, Harvey?" Batman growled finally. Harvey began to shake his head, keeping the gun aimed at the man he had once helped. Batman didn't fail to miss the fact that the gun's mouth was now smeared with white, from resting against the Joker's temple. He'd never thought that the same gun that was pointed at a man as disgusting as the Joker would be pointed at him with the same viciousness.

"The Joker's- the Joker's just a mad dog. You- you could've done something. You could've done something about Rachel!"

"You don't think Rachel's death hurt me too?" hissed Batman before he could stop himself. Harvey's eyes narrowed at this, his teeth visibly grating together through the gaping hole in his jaw.

"What the hell did Rachel mean to you, anyways? You have no right to claim Rachel's death hurt you-!" He was cut off by the Joker, who had begun to giggle once more, insanely and uncontrollably. Batman caught the look on the mad clown's face, and he felt a moment of terror.

"Yeah, Bats, what _did_ Rachel mean to you?" Batman knew the Joker knew, because they'd been in that warehouse with him. He and Gordon had been caught in the spider's web, and the Joker knew more about Batman than almost anyone. Besides Gordon, of course.

Batman flinched visibly; he couldn't think about the newly appointed Commissioner right now. He needed to focus on the situation at hand; Harvey could very well be dangerous, and if he knew Batman's real identity, it'd only make a mess. For some reason, however twisted it was, Batman knew the Joker wouldn't reveal his identity to all of Gotham. But he might lead Harvey on with enough hints that would lead to disastrous results.

Hesitating visibly, Batman refused to reply. This seemed to enrage Harvey further, and he shoved the gun forward further, spitting out his next words. "That's what I _thought_. She was just another person to you, wasn't she. What's one person compared to all of Gotham, hey?"

Harvey's sarcastic words held more bite than he could ever have imagined; Bruce might have realized he didn't like Rachel sexually, but he had certainly loved her like a sister, and her death had nearly broken him. Having Harvey say things like this- the dramatic irony of it all hurt Batman more than the bullet Harvey could send flying for his chest at any moment.

"Was I the one who set up the bombs?" Batman finally said, through teeth that could barely unclench long enough for him to speak properly. Harvey's mouth was half open when the Joker, whose eyes had been flickering back and forth between the two imposing "heroes", made a sudden move away from the bed.

Harvey's eyes widened, and the gun point was almost immediately pointing at the Joker's chest once more, rather than Batman's. "Where do you think you're going?!"

"Oh, I just figured I'd give the two of you some alone time-"

"So you can blow us both up?" Harvey growled lowly, his eyes full of distrust, for both the Joker and Batman.

"I wouldn't let you, my_ prize_, get blown up! Oh no no. And Bats here...he can look out for himself just fine." The two of them seemed ridiculously close to bickering, but Batman ignored the words, and decided it was time to act.

Just like he had in the warehouse, Batman took advantage of the Joker being distracted by another person talking, and summoning all his strength, launched himself from his position to tackle the Joker to the ground before Harvey could fire his gun.

Landing a stiff punch on the side of the Joker's face, Batman felt satisfied when he heard the grunt of pain the man let loose. It was soon followed by a chuckle, however, that squelched some of Batman's satisfaction.

Before Batman could smash his fists into the Joker again, he remembered Harvey, and looked up just in time to see the man, with a snarling face, pull the trigger.

At such close contact, the crack the gun emitted would have been enough to make a man without ear protection to wince. Batman had long since trained himself to ignore noises that he didn't need to waste attention on, and used the couple of seconds he had to dive out of the target area.

It didn't work quite as he'd hoped, however, and the bullet caught his shoulder painfully, grazing through the space between his plates of body armour in the bat-suit. Letting out a low snarl of his own, Batman couldn't stop his body from the continued fall he'd forced himself into in order to avoid the brunt of the bullet.

His shoulder flared, but he didn't even have enough time to roll to his feet before he looked up to see the Joker lifting a chair. _Fuck_, was the last thing he thought before the steel slammed into his head, and he fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

When Batman's eyes opened again, he was still on the floor of the hospital room. Looking up, dazed at first, Batman's eyes caught the empty hospital bed, the chair that was lying on the ground nearby, deserted, and the blood that had been spilled on the floor; his own blood, that was coming in rather profuse amounts from his shoulder and his head, the blood dripping despite the protection his cowl had allowed.

The bullet wound was only superficial, but the gun had been fired at such a short range, it had torn up his skin a good bit, and when he struggled to push himself up, it flared up enough to make him shudder slightly. The head wound was worse; the chair had only sliced opened his chin after it had skidded off his forehead and it bled like a bitch. The bit that was bad, however was the actual impact it'd had with his skull. Apparently the head protection he wore hadn't provided quite enough protection, and this was soon proved when he attempted to move.

His head span with every move he made, no matter how small, and the world swam before his eyes. It took him a moment to regain his senses, but when he did, the next thing he saw was a piece of paper lying next to him.

Frowning, he pushed his fingers out, and when he made contact, pulled it closer. Squinting his eyes, Batman discovered it was painful to even concentrate on the wide, erratic scrawl that was covering the piece of paper. It appeared to be some sort of note...written on the back of a medical chart?

He gave a start when his eyes finally focussed; it was from the Joker himself. The writing was jagged, and oddly spaced, with some letters and words bigger than others, without any sort of pattern. And it said-

_HeY BaaaatS! iF I know yoU, i BET you'LL reAd this bEfore the whOle building blows sky HIGH! I wAs SO glad tO see You toDay, soRRY our Meeting had TO BE so ShOrt, bUt you know guys like HarveY dent, they're So INTO IT! AnYways, no hard Feelings, Hope you get out OF ThEre alRight! (whIch I knOw you WiLL) _

_WitH LOVE,_

_JoKer _

_PS. SaY HI to tHE CoMMISh for mE_

There were random "HAHAHA"s scribbled here and there throughout the letter, and Batman's lips curled. He didn't have time to ponder the letter further, however, mainly because of the warning and reminder that the Joker had added to the letter.

The bomb.

That maniac was going to blow up the building that he was still lying inside. Looking about crazily for the clock he was certain he'd seen when he first entered the room, Batman finally found it, and latched onto the time.

If he recalled correctly, he'd only been out for a couple minutes. But a couple minutes could be deadly; he'd bet anything that the Joker was going to click whatever deranged button he had with him as soon as he left the building, and then it'd be too late. Who knew how long he had to get the hell out of there?

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Review review review, I simple can't say it enough!


	5. It's Gotham General

I am, quite possibly, one of the worst updaters of all time. Ah well, so be it. Here's a new chapter folks. If any of you have the Dark Knight soundtrack, I would recommend listening to the song Aggressive Expansion...it seems to work well for this segment.

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_**Chapter V:**__ It's Gotham General_

When Gordon came out of his unconscious state, lights danced before his eyes and his ears roared as he attempted to move. Letting out a muffled yelp of pain, he attempted to clutch his head with his hands; this only worked with one hand, unfortunately. The other limb was stopped suddenly and painfully; a sharp, hot pain in his shoulder caused him to lower his left arm.

Then it slowly started to come back to him- the car, being hit, Berg's gun going off, the bullet clipping his shoulder…the pain in his head must've been from the impact…after all, he was still healing from the crack to the head the Joker had dealt him back in the warehouse.

Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, Gordon didn't attempt to move, and didn't bother trying to open his eyes again until the pain that rippled through his entire skull lessened to a tolerable throbbing. Then, ever so slowly, the Commissioner let his eyes slide open, cautiously.

The light that filtered into them was painful, but not terrible, and it took him a long time to open his eyes half way. When they finally slit open, Gordon was vaguely aware of something dark above him. Giving a gasp again, he would have said something aloud when he was cut off.

"Commissioner?" The voice sounded familiar... "Can you hear us?"

"Where- where am I?" Gordon mumbled, fully aware that his lips weren't working quite the way he wanted them to.

"You're at headquarters, sir." When the polite voice said this, Gordon realized it was one of his men. O'Sullivan perhaps? Deciding to take the plunge, Gordon forced his eyes open all the way.

The light that came in was painful, but it allowed the man a clear view of where he was and who he was speaking to. It was indeed O'Sullivan, his quick green eyes looking down at him with a good bit of concern showing in his eyes.

"What happened?" were Gordon's next thick words.

"A civilian crashed into your car." He hesitated visibly before continuing. "Berg's dead. It appears his gun went off....the bullet hit your shoulder, sir."

Gordon's eyes narrowed at this, as he recalled what had happened in the back of the vehicle before the collision had occurred. "Son of a bitch..." he muttered, which caused O'Sullivan to raise his eyebrow momentarily.

"Is there something you should tell us, sir?"

Hesitating himself, Gordon replied slowly. "No...no, it's nothing." There was no point in revealing the truth when the man was dead. And his family had been threatened through hospital bills and the like. It's not like he'd done it for kicks like certain criminals Gordon knew of.

"How's Reese?" Gordon continued on to ask, hoping to lead O'Sullivan away from that particular topic. It worked, for O'Sullivan nodded his head curtly and got thoroughly distracted with his answer.

"Alright. He's in mild shock from the day's events, but he's physically unharmed." Lips tightening, he added, "He was lucky, that's for sure." Gordon was fairly sure O'Sullivan had been friends with Berg....he also happened to know that no-one on the Police Force was feeling overly friendly towards Reese at the moment...they might not care for the Batman, but what Reese had done had put them all in danger.

Gordon listened attentively, but as O'Sullivan was finishing up, his head gave a cry of pain, and he winced as a result, his capable hand fluttering up to his bandaged forehead. O'Sullivan noted this, and said, "Sorry, sir. With the hospitals being out, we couldn't find you any suitable painkillers. We can get you some strong Tylenol or something though, if you'd like."

"I'd like that very much," Gordon replied dryly; he didn't blame the man, but with a half cracked skull and a torn open shoulder, he would've thought it fairly obvious what he wanted.

"Right away," O'Sullivan said in response, nodding his head again. "I'll be right back." The man turned on his heel and left the room; Gordon realized for the first time that not only was he in headquarters, but he was in his own office. A makeshift cot had been made up for him in the corner by his desk.

Trying his best to sit up a little, Gordon's mouth opened in a silent gasp as he did so; it hurt like a bitch. His shoulder trembled despite himself, and his head ached worse than the time he'd been hit with the Joker's crowbar.

"Good god," he muttered to himself. Clutching his head once again with his one hand, his thoughts suddenly drifted to Bruce. It was no good, thinking about the man when he ought to be focussing on the task at hand; the task of catching the Joker once and for all. But he couldn't help it.

What had his last words to Bruce been? Something about staying home, he was pretty sure...good, good. That meant Bruce was still safe at home. But something tugged at the back of Gordon's mind; Bruce, or rather, Batman wasn't the sort of person to just sit by idle...especially not if someone he cared was in the fray themselves.

Gordon felt a mix of feelings at this; the first was a giddy wash of warmth at the thought that he was one of the people Bruce Wayne cared for. He shoved this down, however, with the anxiety that perhaps Bruce hadn't stayed home, that perhaps he was in some way about to get in a lot of trouble.

These thoughts were interrupted by O'Sullivan's return. The man was carrying the promised pills, along with a paper cup of cooler water. "Here you are sir," he said as he handed first the pills, then the cup over.

Putting the pills in his mouth before taking the cup with his one good hand, Gordon nodded his thanks to O'Sullivan before he swallowed. "Do you need anything else sir?" O'Sullivan asked politely, looking somewhat worried for the man whom he'd called his superior for some time now.

"No, no I don't think so," Gordon replied, carefully not to shake his head with too much enthusiasm lest it fall off his neck. Then he added, "What's the current situation?"

O'Sullivan's brow creased, but he replied promptly. "Not great, but not terrible either. Nothing's blown up yet, to say the least..."

"Nothing's happened?"

"No sir. But we'll know the moment something does...would you like to stay here and rest for a bit? Our medical squad said it would be unwise to let you move around much."

"Fine, fine," Gordon said, feeling slightly perturbed that he couldn't do anything. "Just do me a favour- pass me the TV remote."

O'Sullivan raised his eyebrow once more; he knew the Commissioner. He knew the man would probably get worked up while he watched the news, and would undoubtedly want to do something. But nonetheless, he handed Gordon the remote and said, "Now you rest up, sir."

"Yes, yes," Gordon replied, fluttering his hand. Even if he wanted to, Gordon doubted he'd be able to do much more than prop himself up for a couple minutes. Until the painkillers kicked in, that is. He hoped he'd be a little more mobile after that.

Giving him one more nod, O'Sullivan headed for the door and shut it after him quietly; before he had even left the room, Gordon had turned on the TV.

Gotham News wasn't much help; the news anchor looked a bit nervous as she reported that nothing had yet happened to any of the buildings around the city. Gordon didn't blame her; the Joker might have promised to blow up a hospital, but it wouldn't stop him from targeting another well known building as well, be it the News Station or City Hall, or even Police Headquarters.

Another wave of pain was rippling through his shoulder when his cell rang; seemed they hadn't taken that away from him at least. He was thankful for it, for when he checked the caller ID, he saw a number he recognized.

He hadn't dared to program Bruce Wayne's number into his cell, for fear of someone finding it, or suspecting that there was something more than mere camaraderie between himself and the millionaire, but he'd memorized the number.

"Hello?" he said as he flipped his phone open, not sure whether to be nervous or merely relieved. When he heard the other person's voice, however, his throat constricted.

"Commissioner Gordon?" Gordon didn't have to ask who it was to know that the thick accent was that of Bruce's butler, Alfred.

"Yes?" Gordon asked, finding himself quite unable to say much more than that.

"I thought you might want to know that Mr. Wayne has left for the warehouses you and your men were headed for before the Joker announced his plan to blow up a hospital."

Gordon's hand tightened on his cell, his eyebrows lowering over his eyes. "How did he know where we were g- never mind." He was fairly certain that Bruce had ways of hacking into their system, and was also fairly sure that they were illegal. He didn't really want to know.

"The only reason I'm telling you this," Alfred continued, obviously ignoring Gordon's last words, "Is because the tracking device on his Bat-Suit has either been destroyed or turned off...he's not showing up on the scanners anymore."

A cold chill went down Gordon's spine, but rather than going into panic mode, Gordon could feel his cop instincts kicking in. Staying very calm, he said, "Are you sure? Maybe he's just having problems with the device..."

"No sir. He designed it himself...and he's especially meticulous with such matters."

"I see..." Gordon didn't know what to say. Alfred sounded quite grave, and Gordon just didn't know...after all, Alfred seemed to be the best judge of Bruce's character, along with guessing what the man might've done in such a situation. "Do- do you think he's okay?"

"One can only hope, sir," was Alfred's only response, and Gordon's breath caught painfully in his throat. There was a pause on the other side of the line before Alfred said, "Have you managed to keep Mr. Reese safe?"

"Yes," Gordon replied, his thoughts still on Bruce- if the man was dead, he wasn't sure what on earth he'd do...or if he was bleeding somewhere with no help...or worse yet, if he was in the Joker's clutches again...

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, are you alright?" Gordon was brought back by these words, and his eyes widened. "Your words sound a tad slurred..."

Astounded by the manservant's ability to pick up on such small cues, Gordon replied, "I'm...fine. There was a bit of an accident."

"An accident? Nothing too serious, I hope..." Alfred sounded quite concerned once more, and Gordon was touched that it was for him this time.

"No, no....just a crack to the head." Coughing, Gordon added in a mutter, "And a bullet to the shoulder."

Alfred caught it, however, and said sharply, "I would certainly hope you're not contemplating doing anything straining."

"If they need me, Alfred-" Gordon began to argue, before being quickly cut off.

"You're just like Master Bruce, sir...never know when to stop pushing your limits." The way he said it, Gordon wasn't sure if it was a compliment or something else.

About to speak, the Commissioner was cut off by a sudden rap at his door. "Just a moment," he said to Alfred before looking up and calling, "Come in."

It was O'Sullivan again- but this time, he looked a little more worried. "Sir, we've just got word from a couple of our officers who were stationed at Gotham General."

Gordon's brow creased further before he replied. "What'd they have to say."

"One of them said she was pretty sure she spotted the Joker entering the building, and when her partner went upstairs to check it out, he caught sight of the Batman entering one of the rooms. He would've gone in, but the emergency workers were ordering an immediate evacuation..."

It felt like someone had grabbed Gordon's beating heart with icy hands; he could hardly breathe at this news; Bruce was in a hospital that could blow sky high at any minute. Worse yet; there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all.

"Oh God," he said, barely exhaling his breath as he did so. "How long ago was this?"

"They radioed it in not more than a couple minutes ago. I came up here as fast as I could."

For the second time in two minutes, Gordon was about to speak when he was again interrupted. This time, it was by the television, that was still turned on. A news reporter was standing a fair distance away from Gotham General; the hospital loomed in the background, and she was giving an update on the situation, which hadn't changed since the last time-

And then it happened. There was a deafening crash, followed by a low thumping boom, and the hospital behind her exploded into flames. As it began to fall into itself, all Gordon could hear was the squealing of twisted, breaking metal, the rumble of the falling wreckage, and the roar of the fire as it ignited the building's gas lines.

The news reporter was now screaming into the microphone, and her words were being repeated just outside Gordon's door by his officers. "It's Gotham General! Gotham General's been destroyed!"

Gordon now knew what he had to do; glancing over at O'Sullivan, whose eyes were fixed on him, Gordon quickly spoke into his cell, "I have to go."

He could hear Alfred beginning to protest, but he pressed the red hang up button and shoved the phone into his pants. "We need to get down to Gotham General. Now," Gordon barked.

O'Sullivan looked like he was to say something as well, but Gordon growled, "I'll be fine. Right now we need to go check that everyone was evacuated." His heart throbbed for Bruce, but his brain was screaming, _Did they get Harvey Dent out of there?_

"Sir, you need stitches-"

"What better place to go then, but to a hospital?" With this wry bit of humour tossed out, Gordon heaved himself painfully off the cot and threw on his trench coat. "Now go get a squad car ready."

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I think we all know what I'm going to say here...REVIEW!


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